


Things Will Be Just Fine

by axlsangel



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axlsangel/pseuds/axlsangel
Summary: This was love, love sheathed from a holster of bad memories, love proven to save them from destructive realities.





	Things Will Be Just Fine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fluffy Izzal one-shot, because I needed to write this. This is also posted on Rockfic (bleh1986)

** 1992 **

The heavy fog coalesces with Lafayette’s humidity as Axl steps out of the taxi, algid nights throughout his teen years flashing back into his head as though a recent memory. There’s a slight drizzle falling upon the city, little drops of cold rain seeping into his coat, and soaking the tips of his hair, the reds of it already aging to a dismaying brown. With each step he takes, the pressure on his knee grows insubordinate, along with the chastising thoughts in his head.

But he wouldn’t stop now.

Not when he’s made it this far.

His fingertips trail along the doorframe before they curl into a fist, knocking against the door with an odd reluctance. He waits a terse moment before knocking again, and a familiar slightly-rasped voice informs him of their presence from inside of the old house. Axl shifts his weight, malaise riveting off his demeanor and only heightening when the door opens to reveal the face he’s spent eons recalling.

Izzy parts his lips, releasing a sigh as he falls back against the door. In his prismatic eyes, there’s adulation evident and nonpareil, and Axl feels as though he’s falling in love again and again. 

“Coming back so soon?” Izzy steps to the side, allowing Axl space for entry. The sweet smell of cinnamon incense envelops him, a warmth heating his dampened body with such tenderness— A homeliness, a sincerity welcoming him each time.

Axl doesn’t respond to the question, and instead balances on the tips of his toes to press a gentle kiss to Izzy’s lips. Axl smiles around their mouths, and the familiar taste of nicotine and Mama Isbell’s oatmeal cookies lingers on the tip of his tongue as he pulls away. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a month,” Izzy reminded, calloused fingertips gently brushing away strands of his swain’s fiery hair. His eyes crinkle when he simpers, and it’s as though they’re foolish kids helplessly devoted to silly dreams once again.

“But it’s been a year since you left.” Axl doesn’t stand for a debate, and instead works his fingers along Izzy’s dreadlocks. When he’d first visited to find the new state of the guitarist’s hair, he wasn’t fond of the change. But over drawn out months, Axl had grown to admire the differences between 1991 and 1992, much to the fact that his Izzy was a happier man. And that was all he ever needed to find content within himself.

Izzy interlocks their fingers, managing a rasped chortle when they descend onto the couch. Axl’s cheek presses against his chest, scouring for that melodic heartbeat that matched the harmony amidst his wildest dreams. Memories interlaced with the sweet beatitude of their obscure romance flush through his head over and over, and amongst it, Izzy’s heartbeat is resonating and reminding him that he’s still here. He always is. He’ll always be.

“Long trip?” Izzy inquires softly, twirling a strand of long scarlet hair around his index finger.

“It’s worth it.”

“Not if it causes you so much stress.” Izzy sits up, and Axl sinks down in his lap as though he just belongs there. And perhaps, he does. 

His arms snake around the guitarist’s neck, his wrists tickled by sable dreadlocks as he leans in to connect their lips. Izzy hums, his fingertips uncouthly venturing along the singer’s sides before stationing themselves upon angular hips. Axl could feel the soft wrinkles beneath his fingertips as he cups Izzy’s cheeks, feathering gentle kisses from the latter’s nose, to the line of his jaw. After an elongated kiss, his head falls into the crook of Izzy’s neck, exhaling a soft breath as exhaustion sweeps over him.

“Sleepy?” Izzy coos, and Axl nods in quiescence, straddling the former’s hips as he carries them from the couch to his bedroom. When his back touches the domestic comfort of the gossamer sheets, Axl feels like he’s home again, sinking into heaven when his boyfriend’s arm drapes along his torso. His heavy eyelids flutter open, the lustrous hazel in Izzy’s eyes meeting his, ostensibly dilating with unadulterated affection. “You’re probably missing all of the after-show parties.”

“I’d rather be here,” Axl insists, and Izzy can’t help the delicate smile forming on his lips when he hears the words. Since Izzy left the band, Axl had made a point of visiting Indiana after each show, sometimes leaving earlier than fans anticipate just to indulge in longer moments with his beloved. He ponders a life here, leaving everything behind just to spend each ticking moment with Izzy, singing old rock ballads and smoking until the sun meets the ground. His life was mended into the guitarist’s soul since the day they’ve met; Axl, a teenager attempting to escape his sorrows, and Izzy, a gypsy with his head above the clouds.

This was love, love sheathed from a holster of bad memories, love proven to save them from destructive realities.

Izzy’s slender fingers dance along Axl’s cheek, running over each faint freckle dusted across pallid skin, and then brushing over the vermillion of his lips. “I love you,” he tells, his voice just above a whisper.

“I love you,” Axl repeats, curling beneath Izzy’s arm and snuggling his face upon the guitarist’s chest. “How often will I spend missing this?”

Izzy chuckles, and it’s deep in his throat, rumbling through his chest and amalgamating with his melodic heartbeat; a sound Axl replays in his head minute by passing minute. 

“It’s okay, Axl,” he reassures, pressing an ameliorating kiss to his swain’s head. “Things will be just fine.”


End file.
